Abberline
by Jerrath92
Summary: A story on Inspector Abberline's situation after being bitten and the steps taken to end his curse before any more casualties can come into play. Rated M for gore and language as the story progresses.
1. Chapter 1: Perpetually Angry

**I do not own Francis Abberline, Lawrence Talbot, Gwen Conliffe, or Sir John Talbot. All other characters are OC. Short chapters-short story, but I wanted to continue Abberline's story. Feel free to review.**

He was destined for hell now. The gaping wound on the nape of his neck spurted out blood which he attempted and failed to stem with his already completely soaked handkerchief. He winced, applying pressure to the tooth-shaped punctures. The fire crackling in the grate was near torture at this point. The sweat build up on his forehead drenched his hair in a foul smelling odor.

_Damn you, Talbot. Damn you and all your family._

At that moment, his men supported Gwen Conliffe inside the cottage, having calmed and debriefed her outside. They escorted her into a moth-eaten armchair. Abberline saw the pale face, the bloodshot eyes, and the small scratches on her delicate skin from the night's events. She avoided his eye, which was understandable, but that didn't' prevent him from being extraordinarily angry with her. After all, she had prevented him from taking the shot and if she hadn't, Talbot would have died instantly and he, Abberline, wouldn't be at the mercy of the moon.

"You've spoken to my men," Abberline concluded. Still looking down, Gwen nodded, wringing her hands.

"Miss Conliffe, you are the reason that I was bitten by your friend, the werewolf, the least you can do is grant me the courtesy of making eye contact with me. I promise that, unlike Lawrence Talbot, I will not bite you."

Gwen shifted her gaze fearfully to his eyes, gulping.

"I need to know personally if there is any way of reversing this. Is there any hope of me returning to who I was before?" He expected her to shake her head, but he had decided it was worth asking anyway. "In that case, is a silver bullet sufficient to put an end to it?"

"The bullet has to be delivered by someone who cares unconditionally for you; otherwise you will only be wounded in the process of the shooting."

"And you learned this from the gypsy woman, did you?" scoffed Abberline. "Yes, that would be the dramatic way of doing it, but I'm confident that my shot towards Talbot would have put him out of his misery, despite my place in caring nothing for him. What if I were to put the bullet in my own mouth?"

"She said nothing of suicide-"

"This is not suicide, this is mercy! I will not allow myself to kill further innocent lives like the Talbots because of my own selfish means. If I must, I'll put a silver bullet in my brain. Do you have an objection to that?"

Gwen recoiled with a small voice, "Mr. Abberline, you're scaring me."

Abberline hadn't noticed how much closer he had come to her, how his fists were bawled, and how furious he felt. He sank back down onto the cot, groaning. Already, in less than five hours, he was feeling the effect of the wolf.

"Forgive me, Miss Conliffe. It would seem that the presence of the wolf makes me a perpetually angry individual."

When she rushed to him, grasping his blood-stained hands firmly, he had to admit that Gwen had more courage than any woman of any age that he had ever known. There were fresh tears running down the apple of her cheeks when she spoke. "I can't express how sorry I am Mr. Abberline. If there were anything that I could do to help you, I would do it."

Slightly embarrassed, Abberline shook his head, growling when he felt the wound. "A kind offer, but I don't wish you to have to deal with any more of this matter. My men shall escort you back to London in the morning where I trust you will stay and not come back to this place. I want your word."

"But-"

"Your word, Miss Conliffe," he said a little louder.

Gwen nodded.

There came a knock on the door and Jeremiah Romley and Nathaniel Pennington entered, looking far more solemn than Abberline believed to be necessary. He knew what was coming and allowed his men to secure him down to the cot by ropes. Romley readied a hot knife in the fire while Pennington offered Abberline a broad wooden stick to bite down on, but Abberline refused.

"Sire, you'll bite your tongue in half," Pennington protested.

"If I'm lucky, that's the only thing I'll bite," said Abberline through clenched teeth. Remind me again why you can't just shoot me instead of going through all this nonsense of closing up the wound."

"Well," said Romley, turning the knife over in the fire, "given that you, the commanding officer, are-shall we say-incapacitated, you are no longer in a state to give orders concerning intentions to deliberately harm yourself. We'll have to wait for other authorization before we can act."

"And we just couldn't bring it upon ourselves to shoot you, sir," added Pennington.

"Valiant of you," said Abberline sardonically. "Get on with it then."

Pennington added to the ropes on the cot by holding Abberline down tightly on his shoulders. Abberline turned his head sideways to allow access to the wound when he spotted Gwen still in her seat, watching in horror.

"Oi, hold up!" he cried. "Miss Conliffe, what are you still doing in here? Kindly step outside-this is not for a woman's eyes."

Gratefully, Gwen excused herself and Abberline braced himself for the pain to come. Romley held the white hot blade above him with the promise, "I'll be quick as I can, sir," before plunging in to it.

The blade met the exposed flesh, sending up smoke clouds. Abberline dug his fingernails into the cot's wooden frame, arching upward in agony. His vocal chords felt like they were longing to rip out of his throat. His body begged for an end to the pain that would never come. A single shot would have been nothing compared to this. Then, not nearly soon enough, the knife clattered to the floor and Romley shook him roughly.

"Sir, it's finished now, it's over."

Choking back tears, Abberline dropped his head back onto the cot. Pennington slapped his cheek ever so slightly. "Are you still with us, sir?" he asked concernedly.

Abberline nodded with the comment," You should have shot me." Overwhelmed by exhaustion and a now dulling pain, he closed his eyelids and slipped into one last peaceful realm of darkness.

The following morning he awoke feeling insultingly refreshed. The weather mocked him as the sky let a temporary sun shine down on him upon his exit from the cottage. He saw that four of his men had gone, taking Gwen with them, which left only Romley and Pennington. He knew that he'd have to wait for his other five men to return from the village with news on if he was allowed to enter amidst the people or if he had to be escorted to a hospital for the mentally disturbed and dangerous. He had sent his men out the night before which meant that they should be returning soon. During the wait he decided to shave off his ginger beard and moustache using Romley's blade and a mud puddle's watery reflection as his mirror. If he was honest with himself, he had always been rather fond of his facial hair up until he was introduced to the concept of being a werewolf. The very thought of hair on his face made him shudder.

For what might have been four or five hours he waited, sitting on a damp patch of grass while Romley and Pennington played cards behind him. Finally, the sound of hooves splashing through the muddy path reached Abberline's ears. He stood up, brushing off his trousers.

"Someone's coming up the road," he announced.

Pennington looked at him quizzically. "I don't hear anything, sir."  
"Give it a moment and I think we'll hear it," said Romley. Sure enough, as the sound became unnaturally louder in Abberline's ears, Romley and Pennington stood up with him, reaching for their pistols.

"There's three of them," Abberline concluded. His guess proved correct when three mounted riders came galloping up the path from the south. At first, Abberline thought that it was some of his men returning, but a closer look told him that these men were strangers, save for the head rider. He recognized the deceitfully young features of a colleague and competitor of his, Kenneth Harlem.

Harlem was typically more liked by his and Abberline's peers, though he never boasted about it. In fact, Harlem had never gloated about anything that put him at a higher rank than Abberline, but that didn't stop him from having an ill attitude towards the fellow inspector on most occasions.

Now he slowed his house to a stop, spraying muck all over Abberline's shoes. His face was expressionless, though his voice seemed rather amused when he greeted, "Had a run in with the village idiot, did we Inspector Abberline? Or perhaps better known as the werewolf?"

"Where are my men?" Abberline asked.

"On their way back to London, I should hope," answered Harlem. "They explained your situation to me when I arrived in the village early this morning and I sent them home."

"You had no right to order my men away when I might have need of them Harlem. And on whose authority are you here in the first place?"

"Our peers," answered Harlem simply. "I was sent to assist you in the capture of one Lawrence Talbot, but it seems that I arrived too late, for the word is that he was dispatched, but not before giving you an affectionate nibble, am I correct?"

"Spare me the insults Harlem," snapped Abberline. "Who are these men with you?"

"Orson MacDonald and Clark Bishop," said Harlem, motioning to each man in turn. "They work with me."

Abberline nodded curtly at the two men who were eyeing him apprehensively. Annoyed, he assured them, "I have a month before you need to be afraid of me, so you can act like men and not insult me with those looks on your faces."

"We're rather uneasy about the task ahead, inspector," said Bishop.

"What task?" Abberline asked Harlem.

"Given your current situation, you need to be examined and taken care of by specialists. You haven't harmed anyone yet and therefore, I see no reason to have you chained up like the wild animal you'll eventually evolve into at the full moon. I kindly ask you to accompany us back to London."

"I kindly decline. Tests were already run on Talbot; there is nothing more to discover. Just lend me a silver bullet and a revolver and I'll save us all a trip."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"You're proving to be nothing but a nuisance," Abberline growled.

Harlem dismounted his horse to be on an even level with Abberline. "And you, Frederick Abberline, are being ordered to mount your horse and allow me and my men to escort you back to London for the verdict on your fate."

"He prefers Francis Abberline," Pennington corrected quietly.

"I don't look forward to being used as a science experiment Harlem. I wish to end my life before any harm can be done. Let me end my life for God's sake!"

"I am none too thrilled to be the bearer of bad tidings, but my orders are clear Abberline. You have served Scotland Yard well and they will only wish to provide you with a cure if such a thing exists. I cannot allow you to throw your life away so foolishly."

"Why would you give a damn about me?"

"You'll find that while I may not be an agreeable individual, I am sympathetic. I pity you inspector, and therefore, I shall _ask_ you one last time to come with me before I must _force_ you."

Abberline was more than willing to fight his way out of the situation, but he had more sense than that and decided to give in. He'd just have to wait and see what was in store for him.


	2. Chapter 2: Travel By Moonlight

The long road back to London was best traveled in silence, according to Abberline. He had insisted that Romley and Pennington stay with him until they were ordered away by higher authority and Harlem had no objection to this. He did, however, position MacDonald and Bishop behind the traveling party to ensure that the rebellious trio didn't try to cut loose and gallop away. Harlem himself rode directly beside Abberline more as a precaution than a gesture of kindness.

Abberline began to note the difference in his own behavior when the sun had long since sunk behind the trees and the moon began her ascent. True, she was not full, but she showed no signs of sparing him this first night since being bitten. The newly sealed wound struck up a terrible temptation to be itched. Unable to help himself, Abberline dug at the skin to give himself even the smallest measure of relief. It was difficult to steer his horse in complete darkness-save for the small lantern that hung from the saddle of Harlem's horse and scratch the wound at the same time. Eventually he gave up trying to navigate his way and pulled his horse's reigns to make the mare stop. Romley and Pennington continued on, turning around in their saddles to look at him. MacDonald halted on is right, bidding Bishop to keep up with the party.

"Keep moving, if you please, inspector," he said

"One moment," Abberline insisted. He suddenly felt queasy, holding his other hand to his stomach which gave an unnatural grumble.

"We'll lose the others. Please, come along, sir."

"If it's so important to you, go catch up them and don't let me hold you up," Abberline said irritably, raking his fingernails in deep to defeat the itch.

"Actually, you _are_ holding me up, sir. I have to insist that you resume your casual pace." MacDonald reached over and secured his fingers around Abberline's wrist.

Adding to the itch and the nausea, Abberline experienced a wave of unexplainable ferocity. Never had he felt so angry in his life. "Don't touch me," he seethed at MacDonald. When the officer refused to relinquish his hold Abberline retaliated by enclosing his hand around MacDonald's knuckle. He felt the bones in MacDonald's hand tremble in protest. MacDonald panicked, reaching for his revolver in his holster. The part of Abberline's conscience that remained attached the human part of him told him to provoke MacDonald far enough so that the young officer would have to choice but to shoot him.

"Let-go!" gasped MacDonald.

Abberline snarled, slumping over in his saddle and crying out at the unbearable sting within him. His blood boiled, lungs expanded painfully, heart beat rapidly, muscles grew intensely all at once. He was unaware of MacDonald or any other living organism around him.

What he wouldn't give for everything to _stop_…

Out of nowhere Harlem rammed his horse into Abberline's and the rider was thrown off, still grasping MacDonald's hand. Both officers landed just off the path in the dewy grass and a small bramble of bushes. Though his hand was still poised to be holding MacDonald's, Abberline clutched thin air, for mere feet away, nursing his traumatized knuckle lay MacDonald.

"Get up, away from him MacDonald," Harlem ordered. He stepped down, seized Abberline by the collar, dragged him to his feet and slammed him against a giant maple trunk. For one of Harlem's five foot ten height (three whole inches shorter than Abberline) and his less-than-intimidating muscle stature, the man had great strength when his men were threatened. He slapped Abberline viciously across the cheek with the backside of his hand.

"Are you civil now, inspector? Have you gained control of yourself or shall I run my horse over you?"

The brief spell left Abberline feeling drained and weak. He moaned, rubbing his stomach gingerly. "I'm alright."

"Good." Harlem smacked him again on the opposite cheek so that his entire face stung.

"Blast it, what was that for?" he demanded.

"Have you lost your mind? How dare you attempt to sabotage orders by prying MacDonald into using his pistol? My men weren't' the only ones you could have harmed with your little stunt. I suggest you gain the upper hand in your waging battle with the beast or you'll go the rest of the way to London on a rope dragging behind the horses. Contain yourself Abberline."

"Yet, you denied me access to a bullet and revolver; otherwise this situation might have been avoided. I am coping with this experience as best I can, which I am forced to, thanks to you. If anyone is at fault here, it's you."

"Hold your tongue Abberline," Harlem warned.

Abberline slapped Harlem's hand away, showing his teeth which remained in human form, but this still was not normal human behavior. He took one menacing step forward.

"Do-not-test-me," Harlem told him dangerously with his thumb on the handle of his revolver. "I'm not afraid to put you out of action with this; a shot to the leg or shoulder where a bullet shall remain embedded and cause great pain, but will not kill you. Are you willing to attempt it?"

Defeated, Abberline bit back an insult. Harlem's chocolate brown eyes never left his face when he said. "Mount your horse, return to your place in the line and resume traveling inspector."

Grudgingly, Abberline swung his leg back up over the broad side of his horse, wrapping the reigns around his hands, nearly cutting off the circulation. Harlem gave MacDonald a leg up onto his horse as well and MacDonald caressed his swollen knuckle.

"You'll want to ice that when you get the chance," Abberline suggested.

"Is that so?" asked MacDonald bad naturedly.

"Well, I can honestly say it wasn't my conscience fault. You _are_ dealing with a man who has been bitten by a werewolf, after all."

"I noticed."

Harlem cut in between the two horses. MacDonald, you and Pennington take over in the front. I'll stay behind the inspector." MacDonald had no objection to this order and took up his place in the front. Harlem called up to Romley and Bishop, "Fair warning, we ride through the night, gentlemen, so I highly suggest you tie yourselves securely to your saddle and in turn ensure that the saddle is properly fastened to your horse. This is a precaution so that no one tumbles off their horse during the night. One person on front watch up there and I'll take first watch in the rear."

"This will kill the horses if you don't intend to stop," Abberline told Harlem quietly.

"I would think that with your situation the well-being of the horses would be on the list of things you need least worry about, but I do intend to stop for up to two hours during the day until we arrive in London."

"If you intend on placing me in that infernal asylum where Talbot was held-"

"I don't. That place's sole purpose is to treat the criminally insane. No, the place you're going is a hospital where top of the line scientists and doctors will take extremely good care of you. I will drop by as often as I can to check your progress. Hopefully a cure can be found by your first full moon and if not, preparations will be made to contain you in a place you are guaranteed not to escape from. We are prepared for what is to come inspector. This time, we will be ready."

"Sir John took measure to contain himself and that failed," Abberline recollected. "What makes you so confident that your plans are foolproof?"

Harlem's Adams apple rose visibly by lamp light. He didn't answer, suddenly becoming rather interested in his horse's right ear. Abberline nudged Harlem's horse with his own.

"Harlem, what makes it foolproof?"

"I'm praying that a cure is found by your first moon, Frederick, because if your inner wolf manages to break out of your holding cell, fifty officers issued with all manner of weapons containing and including silver will be standing by to shoot you. They aren't taking any chances this time."

"Suddenly you switch from the term 'we' to 'they'," Abberline noted. "Care to explain?"

"You are one of the best men on the force, Abberline, and losing you would deal us a great blow. I will take no part in guarding your cell, nor will my men."

"What if I was to escape?" questioned Abberline.

"You won't," Harlem assured him. These men have stick orders to shoot on sight, be it beast or man that comes forth from your cell on the night of the full moon."

"I find it odd that you know all this after only following me into town to kill Talbot."

"If, for some reason, he could not be killed, our peers gave orders to bring him back to the hospital you are headed for. You are taking his place, but with much better chances of the staff and all other participants having you in their favor."

"And what of my men?"

"They will be reassigned to another inspector until such times come that the beast is no longer a part of you."

"If such a time comes," Abberline corrected.

Clearing his throat Harlem veered off the subject. "Feel free to catch forty winks. I will wake you when I start to nod off so that you and Romley can switch positions. Good night inspector."

Sleep overtook Abberline within moments, but the well earned rest only seemed to last for a handful of minutes before he snorted himself awake. Dawn was on its way and now Bishop was in the front, replacing Macdonald who was fast asleep on his horse in front of Abberline. Romley's head sagged on his chest in his sleep and up front Pennington gave a long yawn. Harlem was almost laying flat on top of his horse. The ropes secured to his waist and wrists prevented him from going completely flat, but they had gained slack through the night, causing him to be in near danger of falling off the horse.

Abberline reached over and pulled him upright. Harlem awoke in alarm, hand going for his revolver

"Steady inspector!" cried Abberline. "You dozed off."

Rubbing at his eyes, Harlem responded, "Did I? And you didn't make a break for it?"

"It didn't occur to me," Abberline said honestly.

"Well, we'd best let the horses have a rest." Harlem called the traveling party to a halt to water the horses and take breakfast. Bishop examined MacDonald's knuckle which had shaded black, purple, and blue as well as swelled to twice its normal size. Meanwhile, Romley and Pennington held a private conversation with Abberline.

"Are we going to make a break for it sir?" asked Pennington eagerly.

"No, it wouldn't' do any of us any good. They took your silver bullets and who knows when or where we'd find more? We would be on the run and my time is limited to be in hiding. The moon might be full before I have the opportunity to find a place that can contain me to prevent me from attacking the both of you. No, we stay with the others. While they have taken the chance of allowing me to shoot myself, they have provided me with an alternative solution. In the event that a cure cannot be found, I stand a fair chance of being shot, should my holding cell not live up to its purpose."

"And you're comfortable with this, sir?" said Romley in respectful awe.

"Most certainly."


	3. Chapter 3: Briarwood

Abberline was greeted at the hospital warmly and escorted to a rather large room in the east wing of the third floor. The actual room was somewhat less-than-welcoming, as they had been expecting Lawrence Talbot and not a devoted officer of the Yard. Romley and Pennington had said their goodbyes down on the street, though the look on Romley's face when they departed was not a good omen to be left with. Bishop accompanied MacDonald to another ward to tend to his fractured knuckle, but Harlem now sat in the room with Abberline, taking care not to trip amongst the many leather straps, ropes, and chains that littered the floor. Abberline took his place on the cot, but hardly had to wait before a white robed doctor entered.

This man was young, several years younger than Pennington even. He had a quirky grin and blinding diamond blue eyes. His fair tan skin had one flaw; a terrifying scar from the upper left corner of his mouth to is left ear, permanently disfiguring his face.

"Inspector Abberline? I apologize for the mess, we were expecting Mr. Talbot and would have had immediate need of all these, but I'll send someone in to pick them up straight away. I'm sorry to inconvenience you."

"You're American," Abberline noted.

"Yeah, I get that a lot from people around here. I'm Doctor Ulysses Abraham."

"Did you come up with that name all on your own?" asked Harlem.

Abraham blanched. "As a matter of fact, no, my parents named me after two of my nation's greatest presidents. I am not head doctor here at the hospital, but I am second in command of this wing, so I'll be trying to help you out as much as I can."

"Your scar," said Abberline quietly.

Abraham touched the scar subconsciously, tracing the long line with his forefinger. "I'd rather not talk about it."

Abberline respected that. He was patient while Abraham ran several tests on him, filling him in on the rules and regulations as he went. Abberline would be allowed three regular meals a day, he was free to roam about his ward at will given that he returned to his room before sundown (obviously Harlem had filled them in on Abberline's night experience) and he could interact with the other patients. Once a day he was required to go through testing to experiment with antidotes that might lead to his cure. Letters were permitted and on special occasions, visitors, but this was rare, as there was no certainty about how he might react to each antidote. In its entity, the hospital was to be just that-a hospital, but with slightly more restrictions and precautions.

Abraham finished testing Abberline' blood pressure and lifted the back of the inspector's shirt to hold the end of his stethoscope to it and instructing him to exhale. Abberline did so and seemed to note for the first time how irregular his heartbeat was. He saw Abraham frown out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, things seem to be as normal as expected. If I could have you swallow these pills," said Abraham, offering Abberline two odorless white tablets in a napkin along with a glass of water. "These are a minor sedative to help ease you in your new environment. If you should need me, I'm always around. Welcome to Briarwood inspector."

Abraham showed himself out, leaving Abberline alone with Harlem who was the first to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Poor bloke nearly had his face ripped off."

"It was sort of hard to miss."

"You'll be well looked after here, I have no doubt of that. Hopefully they'll find something to cure you before your first full moon," said Harlem optimistically, though Abberline was able to catch the doubt in his well disguised voice.

"I'm not sure if I can handle living after my first transformation. It may sound all well and good for you, but I believe you are not the one now listed as a permanent resident of Briarwood until further notice. Hell has not found you yet, Harlem, and you would do well to remember that I look forward to my first and hopefully last full moon. I welcome death if it means escaping this terror growing inside of me. I feel filthy, like a disease and any chance I have, any opportunity I see of taking my life, make no mistake, I will not hesitate to take it."

"I'm afraid that decision is no longer up to you old boy."

Momentarily taken back, Abberline considered Harlem. He could not recall when Harlem took his side or regarded him with his due respect and the act of being addressed as an "old boy" by his-from lack of a better word-nemesis was nothing short of shocking. Perhaps he had been a little too quick to judge.

"Well, as I'm no longer needed, I'll leave you to it. I'll be in to check on you periodically. Expect me sometime in the next three days around noon. Until then, good luck and God be with you. I'll see myself out."

"I don't believe God spares those who do the bidding of the devil," said Abberline under his breath. He cleared his throat and added. "Be sure to see that Romley and Pennington get on without me. They have yet to completely liberate themselves from under my wing."

"I'll see to them myself," Harlem promised, stepping out the door.

"Harlem," called Abberline after his retreating back. "If you would do me the honor of apologizing to MacDonald? I fear I might have broken both his pride and bones, in which case I will personally pay for his recovery."

Harlem nodded and left.

The hospital was more or less just a building with the occasional insane patient, which meant that Abberline had nothing but time on his hands in which he found virtually nothing to do. There were only two other patients in his ward, one deaf and the other mute, ruling out the possibility of having a civilized conversation with either of them. The small library located near the dining area offered quite a collection of books, though none that Abberline hadn't read time and again from celebrated authors such as Austin, Darwin, and Dickens. He ate his meals in silence and spent the remainder of his day exploring his new abode. Directly before curfew a female nurse located him and escorted him to the far end of the ward to a padded room that held a metal chair equipped with chins and a head strap.

"The doctor will be in shortly to administer an antidote sir. If you would please take a seat," said the nurse pleasantly.

Feeling suddenly apprehensive, Abberline took a seat on the edge of the chair, eying the chins with distaste. He did not have to wait long before a doctor donned in similar robes to Abraham's entered. He held out his hand to greet Abberline.

"Inspector, my name is Quentin Taylor. I'm head doctor of this ward. Although I'm sorry that circumstances brought you to us, I hope you find Briarwood satisfactory?"

"As well as can be expected for someone in my situation," said Abberline with a bit of forced politeness. There was something not in the norm about this man.

"Well, we are about to partake in our first antidote testing. As we are uncertain of your reaction to the vaccine, I would politely request that you take a proper seat in your chair so that I may secure you in."

With a glance at the chins at his feet and the ones dangling from the armrests, Abberline calmly but with a slight amount of firmness said, "I'd rather not."

Taylor's happy-go-lucky expression faltered. "Of course, I do not mean to make you feel uneasy or force you to do something you are uncomfortable with, but bear in mind that this is solely for your benefit."

Indeed. Harlem had told him that he longer had a say about his own fate, but that didn't contribute to Abberline's situation in the least. One way or another, he would receive the antidote and grudgingly, he accepted that fact. It did not lighten his mood.

"On one condition doctor. I wish for Doctor Abraham to be present."

If he was surprised by Abberline's request, Taylor did not show it. He popped his head out into the corridor to speak with another nurse and closed the door. In moments they were joined by Abraham who looked extremely pale and close to fainting. Before Abberline could question his well being Abraham cleared his expression and put on a brave smile, which Abberline supposed was to reassure him, but it only made him more concerned.

"Do I have your permission to bind you in place inspector?" he asked rather weakly.

"You do. Proceed." Abberline sat back in the chair, allowing Abraham to secure first his ankles and then wrists to the chair, taking care not to fasten the locks too tightly. When he moved to the head strap Abberline felt a clammy, freezing cold hand brush his skin and Abraham murmured an apology. His ashen face dripped cold sweat. What ailed the boy so? As compared to the morning's meeting, he looked positively fragile. When he finished, he stepped back respectively and Taylor took the front.

"I warn you, this might cause you pain. After I administer it we shall wait a few moments to let it settle in. Are you ready?"

Grunting, Abberline continued to watch Abraham. He hardly noticed Taylor flicking the tip of a needle, nor the needle piercing his sensitive neck skin opposite the side which bore his wolf bite. He felt no change within him during the wait. The only feeling he had was when Taylor placed the unheated stethoscope over Abberline's bare chest. There was no change in his heartbeat. Shaking his head, Taylor said disappointedly, "A failure."

Whether he meant the antidote or the patient, Abberline had no idea.

That night he suffered from another painful wolf-related experience. The moon had barely poked her head over the sill of his barred window and he felt a shark jerk in his middle, accompanied by nausea again. His insides felt as if they had lit themselves on fire to burn for eternity in the curse Talbot had placed on his shoulders. He tried unsuccessfully to pin himself to the bed with one of the rope strands on the wall, but it was to no avail. Crying out for a doctor, he heard the door beings hastily unbolted and slammed open. Three sets of ready hands held him down while a fourth dragged chains across his body, locking him in place. He felt something small and sharp puncture his elbow pit skin and a wave of drowsiness swept over him. From far away, a distant voice calmed him.

"You'll be alright now inspector…" Abberline saw a streak of moonlight fall upon a terrifying scar before the sedative overwhelmed him and he fell into the realm of darkness.


	4. Chapter 4: Flaws in the Plan

**Sorry the next chapter is so late, everyone. There's so little time to do what I like to in my final year of high school, but I appreciate everyone who has favorited this story and anticipated the next chapter. My apologies for any inconvenience.**

And so it continued. Doctor Taylor tried out a series of cures in various methods every night, but all proved as successfully effective as the first and with every night Abberline's nightmares steadily progressed into horrors that made it a necessity for him to be chained to his bed. Romley and Pennington sent him letters regularly and once or twice Harlem dropped into fill him in on the goings-on of the outside world that he missed so much.

The other patients kept clear of him so that he was left to his own devices, not that he minded much. He wasn't one for company, so he was perfectly content with being left alone. The only person at Briarwood who seemed to like him was Abraham. The man had a habit of touching the scar on his face whenever Taylor called him to help out with Abberline's tests and Abberline could not figure out the reason for this. Several times he would gently try to bring up the subject, but a terrified-looking Abraham would excuse himself from the room without another word whenever Abberline made the attempt.

Abberline had other matters on his mind, however. He couldn't help but notice how he always felt drained and weak after his sessions with Taylor, and how Taylor had a maddened look in his eye when he noted another failed cure. With the nearing of the full moon, Abberline awoke in cold sweat, screaming out for deliverance from what he knew was in store for him. Only when Taylor ordered that he be transferred to the basement chambers did Abberline suspect that perhaps Briarwood was not as it seemed. His holding cell had not yet been finished; the chains were not brought in and there were no restraints at all, only wooden tables and chairs along with a small cot which were all breakable. When he asked Abraham why he was not to be secured onto his bed at night, the man said it was to "examine his strength and see what they were up against".

Two days before full moon Abberline received another visit from Harlem. Straight away Abberline knew something was amiss, for Harlem steered him towards the far end of the recreation yard. He looked apprehensive and on edge when he spoke.

"We may have a slight problem, old boy. It seems that there is a fatal flaw in Briarwood," Harlem said, lowering his voice and glancing over his shoulder for eavesdroppers. "You are in danger."

"I am well aware of _that_, inspector, thank you for enlightening me further," said Abberline sardonically.

"This is not a time for jokes Abberline," Harlem snapped. "I took the liberty of prying into Briarwood's records to further examine the means they were using to cure you when I stumbled upon this." Harlem handed Abberline a sheet of paper. "Read it."

Abberline complied.

"_Patient shows resilience to cures. Sedated every night; blood samples taken. Am attempting to draw enough blood nightly to sustain experimental patient. Patient Abberline to be terminated."_

'What in the bleeding hell does this mean?" Abberline demanded.

"What it means, inspector, is that you are being used as an instrument. After they give you a sedative they draw blood in small doses to mingle with the blood of this 'experimental patient'. Once they've gathered enough blood to supply the other patient, they're going to kill you."

"Just one moment, Harlem, who is this 'they'?"

Harlem turned the paper over and Abberline read a small scribble in the upper right hand corner. "Doctor Q. B. Taylor."

"That bastard! You cannot harness the power of a werewolf, are they mad men? And you say that once they gather enough blood for their experiment they will dispose of me?"

"Yes," said Harlem grimly. "It seems that Taylor never intended to cure you. Every cure he has used has been simply been large doses of pain killers. While you sleep he takes out blood."

Abberline swore louder and Harlem shushed him with a vicious stamp to his foot. "I have a plan to help you, but it's risky. Romley and Pennington are going to be helping out on this one. I've taken the case to our peers and they have put an entire force at my control to confront the hospital. We will demand that you be turned over to us or else we will use deadly force to remove you."

"When is this to happen?"  
"Tomorrow, that is the soonest that our betters could fish up a warrant."

"That doesn't leave much margin for error. Where do you plan to store me for my first transformation?"

Harlem jerked his head at the hospital. "We will take control of Briarwood, dismissing all of those who resist to prison. Guards will be stationed right outside your cell as originally planned."

"Then you must promise me something. Swear to me, inspector, that you will shoot me yourself if I bring harm to anyone."

"I cannot-"

"Kenneth, I beg you! I could not live with myself if I knew that I was responsible for the death of a friend. If my men or yours were to die by my hand I would never forgive myself. You _must_ end it if all else fails. Much depends on your timeliness in tomorrow's takedown of Briarwood."

Hesitantly, reluctantly, Harlem nodded.

Abraham brought Abberline's supper that night. He looked cheery enough by the dim light, but a closer look told Abberline that he had a bruise swelling up under his eye.

"I've put some more sedative pills on a plate there for you if you should be feeling uneasy Mister Abberline."

"Who struck you?" shot out Abberline without warning.

Abraham froze. "Why would you say such a thing? I tripped this morning and hit my eye on the edge of the table."

"Please, don't insult my intelligence, sir. I've been on the force long enough to tell what the cause of a bruise is and yours has four deeper colored areas where knuckles came into contact with your face."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Abraham quietly.

"Did Doctor Taylor remind you of your place when you refused to draw any more blood from me whilst I sleep?"

Abraham moved for the door, but Abberline felt the presence of the wolf within him and dashed to the door, blocking it with a firm stance.

"Get away from the door or I'll call for help," warned Abraham.

"You don't mean that. You, my good sir, are not willing to take part in this criminal act. Doctor Taylor is forcing you to do what you have been doing because if you don't he'll tear you up further just like he did when you said no the first time. He gave you the scar on your face, didn't he? When you first learnt of Talbot and what Taylor planned to do to him you wanted no part of it and refused and that is when he ripped your pleasant features in half. Am I correct, sir?"

Abraham backed away from Abberline. "It's not just my life he threatened, Mister Abberline; he threatened to kill my wife. She works upstairs in the amnesia ward and he said he'd kill her if I didn't do as he said. She has no idea of the threat he placed upon her life."

"Yet, to save her, you would put thousands more lives at risk?" scoffed Abberline. "There is not containing the power of the werewolf and to attempt to do so would be foolish, not to mention suicidal. Do not let Taylor manipulate you, Abraham. I can guarantee the protection of you and your wife if you would only help to put an end to this madness. Inspector Harlem will remove your wife from the vicinity in short order and then you must help me to escape."

"But as soon as Taylor finds out that Connie is missing, he-"

"This is no time to be faint-hearted Abraham. You're either with me or against me."

Abraham licked his cracked and split lips and nodded. "What do I have to do?"

Abberline grinned.


	5. Chapter 5: Beautiful Silver

What else could he do? Harlem had told him to just stay in his cell, and to wait for Abraham to inform him that the hospital had been taken by the right people, for the young man had been more than willing to cooperate once assured of his wife's safety. No doubt he, Abberline would hear orders and possibly gunshots long before Abraham came to him. Evening passed into day and with the new day came the anticipation of waiting for the night's takeover. Slowly, _painstakingly_ slowly, day waned into afternoon on the brink of dusk.

And so he waited, but in growing dread. Tonight would be his first transformation and if anything happened to his men or Abraham, or anyone at all, it would be daily torture for him to continue living. His reputation was no longer at stake, for all of England knew him to be a mutation of a largely despised animal, but if he brought harm to anyone, he might just go insane with guilt.

The sun was already setting from what he could see through the tiny barred window near the ceiling and with it came the sound of an unpleasant din. It grew louder and louder, nearly unbearable to his overly sensitive ears. He heard shouts, gunshots, screams, crashes…

What in the world was going on up there? Surely the hospital staff could not be much of a resistance to a swarm of officers armed to the teeth? What was causing the delay? Where was Abraham or Harlem—_anyone_?

His nostrils caught the foul scent of burning flesh mixed with ash. More screams ensued from above and finally,when he could stand the suspense no longer, he took a running leap and soared straight over his bed, grabbing onto the bars at the window to hold himself up. He saw people running, officers and doctors alike, to fetch pails of water, sloshing most of it up the lawn as they hurried back and tossed it at the building.

But that would mean that—

"The hospital's on fire," said Abberline to himself. "Oh, this cannot be good."

Before he had time to contemplate a means of escape, he heard someone at his door, fumbling with the keys and at last managing to open the door. It was Abraham, ashen-faced and terrified.

"Taylor and a group of doctors set the place on fire," he said shakily. "They found weapons and are firing on Harlem and his men in the courtyard."

"Damn them," Abberline cursed. "Did you get your wife out?"

"Yes, sir, now it's time to move you out. Come with me."

Abberline did not object and followed Abraham down a narrow corridor, up a flight of stone steps, and through another corridor, pausing now and then to peer cautiously around corners. They were in sight of the exit when Abberline spotted someone lurking underneath a gurney who appeared to be wearing a white coat. The man stood up, raising something in his hands as he did. Without thinking, Abberline seized Abraham, whirled him around and threw him bodily to the floor just as something razor sharp and white-hot pierced his back, narrowly missing his spinal cord. Arching his back in pain, he revolved on the spot to face Doctor Taylor. The wound stung, burning like fire as he glared at the doctor, but as he did, he felt the bullet free itself from his skin and clatter to the floor at his feet. He took a step back to get a proper look at it and saw no blood on the bronze shape.

"Didn't think to bring silver bullets, eh, doctor?" he snarled, baring his teeth.

Taylor wisely dropped his weapon and ran for the exit in cowardice.

"Find Harlem and tell him where I've gone," Abberline instructed Abraham who still lay on the floor.

"Where _are_ you going?"

"After that bastard," said Abberline dangerously. "Come back you sniveling, cowardly son of a bitch!"

Abberline ran, his feet barely touching the floor as he pelted after Taylor with anger and adrenaline feeding his speed. He crashed through the doors Taylor had fled through and found himself in a mad crossfire. From his right came the sounds of chaos as the resistant doctors slowly retreated and from the left were the voices of calm, orderly officers advancing. Instinctively, he dropped onto his back and covered his head to avoid the stream of bullets headed directly for him.

"Inspector!" cried a familiar voice from his left. He spotted Pennington running at him and shooting blindly at the doctors. The younger officer ran to him and attempted to pull him backwards to safety.

"Give me a weapon," Abberline ordered.

"Harlem gave me orders to find you—"

"You've found me, well done. Now, give me a weapon," Abberline urged.

"But, sir, the full moon…"

"Nathan, _please_, I must get to Taylor!"

Reluctantly, Pennington handed Abberline a pistol and said loudly over the raging din, "Good luck, sir."

Just then a body fell over between them and Pennington leapt back in shock. Abberline recognized the face of Clark Bishop, one of Harlem's men. He had been shot though the throat and his empty eyes gazed upwards without seeing as blood squirted out in a fountain of red.

Slightly numb from shock, Abberline came to his feet and turned, sprinting full on into the enemy line. Dozens of bullets shot past him, missing their mark, but a few were well-laced and struck him in the arm, the thigh, and his ribs. He managed to get off two rounds from the revolver Pennington had given him before he went down.

The battle raged on overhead, but his vision was foggy as he lay blinded to everything. When he felt someone tugging on his collar, he had trouble bringing them into focus and only when they smacked him roughly upside the head was able to see who it was.

"Use your legs, crawl backwards!"

Pain was everywhere on his body…surely he could not take any more of it, werewolf or not. What he wouldn't give for it to just end—

"Help me, inspector!"

"Nathan," he gagged.

"Get him out of there!" hollered the voice of Romley from somewhere up ahead.

"Keep you head down!" shouted another, this time recognizable as MacDonald, the man whose knuckles Abberline had fractured.

Abberline wiped his arm over his eyes in haste just in time to see Romley keel over backwards as he took a bullet to the head. Dimly aware of Pennington releasing him and running out to where Romley had fallen in attempt to revive him, Abberline swallowed hard and tried to stand up again, but quickly flattened himself as another bullet found its mark and went completely through Pennington's shoulder. He crawled to his friend and pressed his hand over the wound, looking ahead at the bullet's supplier.

Taylor. Damn him, _damn that man!_

There was an evil, twisted look on the doctor's face as he bore down on Abberline and Pennington. He took one giant step towards them and then his head jerked violently backwards as a bullet encased itself in his right eye socket.

"Mr. Abberline, get out of there right now!"

It was Abraham, standing in firing position with a rifle who had come to Abberline's rescue in the act of redeeming himself.

Abberline did not move, watching Harlem's reinforcements arrive too late with a gut-wrenching feeling in his stomach. MacDonald was tending to Pennington's wound as the latter sobbed bitterly into his hands over Romely's body. The battle was theirs, but at what cost? All for Abberline—to protect him from a mad doctor, many men had lost their lives. And for what? What was the reward? They had rescued a demon-creature—

Abberline lurched forward, choking on nothing. His body twitched and trembled, building up to uncontrollable shaking. There were great ugly boils popping up all over his skin, producing something dark that looked horribly like fur. A prickling near his forhead told him that his hair was creeping down towards his eyes. His fingers lengthened, the tips growing long gray claws.

The full moon was directly overhead.

"Abberline!"

Harlem raced towards him, fear etched into the premature lines on his face. He had a revolver in hand and there was an unmistakable glint of silver in the chamber. He had come prepared.

"T-there's no place to contain me," Abberline stammered as his body continued to transform before his eyes. "Do it now before something terrible happens!"

Nearby he saw Pennington try to fight off Abraham and MacDonald to get to him.

"No, inspector!" the young officer shouted.

"You swore Kenneth! You must end it before I lose myself within the monster. I have already lost Officer Romley tonight; do not ask me to endure losing one as young as Officer Pennington as well. Do not allow me to harm anyone. Please…"

"_NO! _INSPECTOR—FRANCIS, DON'T-!"

"Francis, I—,"

"_Now!_" Abberline begged as his teeth elongated, his eyes narrowed.

He saw Harlem raise the revolver, saw the chamber rotate once to the left, saw the flash of a spark and smoke, saw the beautiful silver bullet exit the barrel, saw Pennington behind Harlem screaming…and with the tiniest nod of farewell, he smiled.

**So, here begins my apology. I won't say—no, I will say that I had a severe case of brain fart and could not figure out how to continue (or indeed end) this story. Life catches up to us sometimes and we are forced to put things on hold. But I thank all of you who read the story, waiting in agonizing anticipation for many long months for its continuation and conclusion. I hope that you found the ending somewhat satisfactory and I offer my sincere apologies for the excruciating wait. Thank you!**


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